


Available

by Vee



Category: Borderlands
Genre: Alternate Universe, Hook-Up, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 19:10:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5427407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vee/pseuds/Vee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's an illicit hook-up network floating around the Helios subsystems. Of course, there's no reason Rhys would want anything to do with that. Naaaaah.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Available

It was called Panup. A few programmers started passing around the protocols a week ago, approximately three days before Rhys managed to be included in the distribution chain. Apparently he "couldn't be trusted" because he was "too far up corporate's ass" and "what the hell was _he_ even going to do in there?" (apparently he was "boring" on top of it). He'd threatened to devote his next boring day off to hacking it anyway, and the gatekeepers of panup_v_12376.exe relented. Begrudgingly, yes, but they still relented.

Sure, there were internal programs for everything on the Helios systems already, from spreadsheets to dating to farming advice for some reason, but too much of what made it through was corporate approved and watered down. Panup was different. It was exciting. Rhys had devoted himself to making his way in for three main reasons: 1) it was extremely well-coded, and good code was very pretty to look at, 2) it was already the sleaziest thing on Helios, and growing sleazier by the second, and 3) it would probably be shut down in another week's time. At least, that was Rhys' take on it, as he spent another night poking around in the curious digital hallways.   

Panup, the name, played on both the word _panoptes_ , the all-seeing, which is what Hyperion was to anyone living and working and meddling in harmless but illicit social networks on Helios, but also the word _hook-up_ , which is what one went on the network to do.

 ** _Discretion,_** the warning declared upon logging in, **_is the only rule!_**

Rhys, he would have explained to anyone willing to listen, wasn't a fan of the hedonistic philosophy behind such things, despite being one of the galaxy's worst at dating, but he was alone on a quiet evening and he was determined to make the most of the access protocols he'd earned. Besides, it had been a while since he really sat down and made an event of rubbing one out, so why not?

He never knew what to say in these profile things. It was mostly a joke, anyway, and as such it couldn’t have mattered nearly enough to warrant the care he was taking. He wondered what to say about himself, already struck by unexpected self-consciousness after filling in his vitals. Low on inspiration, and unsure whether he even wanted anyone to respond, he glanced at the wall of his messy Helios apartment. His favorite poster, featuring his favorite person, hung directly across from his bed, not unintentionally placed but also sometimes a little unnerving on a bad day. After a few moments staring at it, contemplating pale eyes and a jawline you could carve a turkey with, he typed "Looking for my Handsome Jack" as a headline, shrugged, and flagged himself as available, thinking little of it.

It took three minutes for someone to ping him, and every second of those three minutes Rhys had been hovering back and forth between deleting his profile and adding a picture to it.   

The message, then, was quite appropriate.

 

>> No picture?

> Haha. I was just about to add one.

>> I can wait.

> Not impressed by my personality, eh?

>> Are you an idiot?

> I was kidding. Why even talk to me, aren't there hundreds of other people on here already?

>> I liked your headline.  
>> Make with the picture.

> I just checked your profile and you don't have a picture either.

>> Whaddya know, I’m exercising _discretion_ , dipshit. I'll send you one in return if I like what I see. 

 

After eyeballing a few other profiles around the network, Rhys decided how to frame the shot. It wasn't like no one would recognize the guy with the flashy cybernetic arm, so staying discreet was out of the question. All he could do was make himself look good, at that point.

He knew his angles and he knew his best features, in his opinion better than anyone who'd ever actually taken the time to appreciate him for his best features. As he agonized over the best first visual impression for a few minutes, part of him hoped the random stranger on Panup would grow tired of waiting. A slightly larger part hoped they would appreciate the fact that he was a damned _gift_.

The photo he chose was from the neck down, his body twisted and his shirt discarded to show off his tattoos. His free hand made a coy half-attempt at covering his chest, but everything from his shoulders to the delicately pronounced V of his hips could be seen, framed to the edge of decency. With his boxer shorts once again comfortably at his waist, Rhys took a deep breath and sent the photo.

And waited.

After a minute, he realized he had no real desire for the stranger to move on. Especially not now. The small part of him that had wanted to avoid the hassle of the interaction altogether was obliterated, replaced by ego and entitlement. Maybe a trace of horniness had crept in there, too, meaning Rhys could no longer deny that he enjoyed being a bit of an exhibitionist.

When he was finally mere moments from following up, checking in, making sure he wasn’t being pranked by the assholes in the mailroom or something, a reply finally came.

 

>> Oh, yeah, I’ve seen you around. Nice arm.

> Thanks.

>> You’re pretty hot.

> Yeah.

>> And you don’t need to be told, apparently. Okay, kiddo, I can dig it.  
>> On the ‘kiddo’ mention, by the way: you’re not like, sixteen or something, are you? You’re pretty twinky. I feel like I need to ask.

 

The strangest rush of pride warmed Rhys for a moment. Yes, he _was_ pretty twinky, thank you very much, random stranger. Most people wrote him off for his height, leaving him dejected and cursing the genetic lottery.

 

> I’m in my 20’s, you’re safe.  
> Good to know you’re not a predator. 

>> I mean, not in that way, no.

> What do you mean  
> Is that some cheesy line about animal instinct?  
> Or are you planning to kill me?

>> Well, you _are_ on Helios, it’s a risk you take.  
>> Are you just on here for snappy convo or can I consider you DTF, smartass?

> Well that depends on your picture now, doesn’t it?

 

Rhys knew the feeling of cold feet creeping in, and worried that by the end of the chat he would be called a tease. He was willing to take that risk. Hooking up with strangers was still a weird and inconceivable concept to him, but the chat was going well enough. Besides, it really did depend on the picture.

A few charged moments later, the picture arrived.

Remarkably, Rhys remembered to breathe. He hadn’t been expecting much, if anything, but this was playing unusually into his basest standards, even exceeding them. Thank goodness neither of them had included their faces. Rhys wanted to imagine certain things about this body as he slid further into a sea of filthy instinct and potential future regrets. His anonymous stranger was seated, pulling up his shirt with one hand to show off a chest that wouldn’t have been particularly worth showing off except for the fact that Rhys was into the broad and hairy look. The real kicker, though, at least for his increasingly piqued interest, was the treasure trail of dark hair leading down to the waistband of half-undone trousers and a bulge that made Rhys’ mouth water in spite of himself.

“I need to get laid,” he whispered critically to himself after staring just a bit too long at that particular section of the image, and shook his head. Upon realizing what he’d just said and what he was actively doing, he added, “But not like this. I don’t think so. Not like this.”

 

>> So? That good enough for you?

> That’s all I need.

>> For what?

> What do you think?

 

Rhys placed his hand between his legs and gingerly petted his cock as he waited for a reply.

 

>> You wanna play, pumpkin? Because we can go right now.

> Um…  
> I don’t know if I’m down for it right now.

>> Oh come on, tell me I’m not hot.

> Yeah, you’re hot. You look like my type. I’m just tired, don’t feel like leaving my room.

>> What if I came to you? What if I just barged in there and caught you with your pants down, what then?

> Okay, that would be a little creepy.

>> All right. Fair enough. What if the guy of your dreams appeared, right now? What would you do?

 

Rhys hesitated, and he knew that was enough of an answer. Nevertheless, he appreciated the trajectory of the conversation. If he could keep that going, it might be enough to help him rub one out. Thinking about the impossible scenario, he squeezed his cock where it stirred, and let out a thin murmur of a moan.

 

> Well, if it were him…

>> Handsome Jack could just waltz in and take what he wanted, couldn’t he?

> He most certainly could.

>> Don’t blame you there, cupcake. You have taste.  
>> You’d let him fuck you?

 

Shifting where he sat, Rhys made a lower noise in his throat and considered the proposal more clearly. Feeling mischievous and exhibitive again, he imagined that Handsome Jack could access some surveillance system on his room, see him where he stretched out on his bed, back against a stack of pillows, and watch… as he'd imagined before. Vivid mental indulgences had, on many occasions, incited Rhys to arching prettily in the direction of where he imagined microcameras might be installed, pulling slowly on his cock, fantasizing that Jack would be impressed with what he saw.

 

> Yes.

>> Bareback?

> If we’re being honest, I would give my left nut to have Handsome Jack fuck me bareback.

>> I wouldn’t go around making that sort of hypothetical bargain around here, but okay.  
>> What’s your style, kiddo, how would you want it?

> On my back. I’d want to see his face.

>> That’s a good answer! Gold star!  
>> Do I even have to ask if you’re hard? Because, not gonna lie, this is making me pretty horny.

> Getting there.

>> Do you think he’s got a big dick?

 

It would have been a bold-faced lie to say he’d never considered it, so Rhys ground harder into his palm and gave the most obvious answer.

 

> He has to.

>> Yeah, a guy with that sort of swagger has to be hung like a horse. He could probably _wreck_ you.

 

Meditating on that thought, Rhys felt his cheeks get hotter as he shoved his hand into his boxer shorts.

 

>> Do you think his dick is bigger than mine?

> Haha, I never got to see yours.

>> Never say never. And based on what you saw, whaddya think?

> Hmm. Bigger.

>> I don’t know whether to be flattered.

> Well, it is _my_ fantasy.

>> Well, I’ve got some time. Tell me more. Maybe I want to keep looking at your picture and imagine you getting dicked so hard you scream.  
>> Or, you know, I wouldn’t say no to another pic.

 

Careful not to reveal too much, Rhys complied. He didn’t really think about it - he just framed the shot to show his whole hand inside his boxer shorts and the tight muscles of his parted thighs, and sent it off.

 

>> Well, fuck, cupcake, that was generous of you.

> ;)

 

Sending a winky face was easier than actual words.

 

>> I don’t know how quick your trigger is, but hold your fire.

> Oh, I’ve got more stamina than that. You should be the one telling me more. Make this worth it.

>> HAHAHAHA  
>> Pumpkin, you have no idea.  
>> And your timing is exceptional, I gotta say.

 

Just as Rhys was about to ask what the hell he meant by that, there was a knock at the door. And before he could react, the door opened up regardless, the familiar sound of the hydraulics sending Rhys into a panic.

Rhys knew the name attached to the face (the body…) (the _face…)_ that walked through the door, but his brain was simply fighting to convince itself he wasn’t hallucinating, that he hadn’t died and gone to Hyperion gay sex fantasy heaven.

“I just… I love that! I love that I still _knock,_ even though I know - this is my space station! I can just open the doors if I wanna!” Handsome Jack laughed heartily, gesturing as he walked around the corner and to the foot of Rhys’ bed. The humor faded from his voice, replaced by something in the sinister key of Mine. “I can just… walk in here, and do… what I want.” He smiled, and Rhys took in the deepest breath he could manage. “I don’t think I’m the only one who wants it, either. Right, Rhys? That's you, right? Rhysss?”

They both focused their eyes on the conspicuous tent in Rhys’ already fairly conspicuous cherry-printed boxers.

“You’re… I mean… Handsome Jack. Sir.”

“Come on, kiddo, you don’t have to be that formal. Not here, not right now! This is your home, right?” He spread his arms out, and Rhys followed the movement of one hand, eyes still wide and expression still catatonic. He nodded. Handsome Jack crossed his arms again, and nodded along. “And this is my space station.”

Still, and then wary, and then convinced that this would all end in him losing his job if it didn’t end in him actually being killed, Rhys looked down, glancing aside to avoid the sight of his still-embarrassingly-hard cock, and nodded once more, grimly.

“I’m… I’m sorry.” His voice hardened on the words. He couldn’t believe he’d been set up like this. Using an illicit network in the Helios subsystems could have him demoted within an inch of his livelihood. He hadn’t even wanted to do anything! He just wanted to look at the pretty code and wait. Those bastards in programming had probably ratted him out, made him a fall guy. It figured. Even he would admit he was pretty naive, given the right motivation to cloud his judgment.

“For being a frickin’ tease? Yeah, you’d better be.” Jack continued in a stern sing-song voice, imparting his advice like a concerned father. “You don’t just do that, cupcake! I was going to give you the _choice_. I was ready to let you call the shots but you had to go and… be like that. And frankly… I’m disappointed.”

“Am I… what is happening right now? Did I do some drugs I’m not aware of?”

“I don’t know, according to your medical records you’ve been in for head trauma enough times for it to be concerning, so anything’s possible. But I assure you, from the bottom of my heart -- okay maybe that’s saying too much, but -- from the bottom of my dick… this is real.”

“Holy crap.”

While Rhys continued to coax himself out of a catatonic state, Jack gave the room a smirking once-over. “The posters are a nice touch. I mean, I prefer statuary but I’m not here to give you decorating advice -- anyway!” He waved his hands in the air suddenly, resolutely, “Let’s just do this. I don’t want you thinking we’re buddies or anything, and I’ve had enough chit-chat tonight.”

Rhys blinked as Jack began to strip, “What?”

“Make with the booty, babe, I haven’t got all night. I’m a busy man!” The urgency was clear as crystal, but Rhys thought the snapping of fingers was a bit uncalled for. Nevertheless, his first instinct was to start pulling his boxers off.

The reality of the situation was sinking in, as _he_ sank like a brick into the sea of remembering everything he’d said to Jack during their short but revealing Panup chat session. He felt himself drowning in humiliation until he remembered the most important confession. “Are you… are you going to fuck me?”

“You know, you doing this?” Jack held up a hand and mimed a talking mouth. “Not helping. This is not a date. I said what I wanted, you agreed to it. If you insist on being a jabber-jaw, here, I’m going to turn you over and make you eat pillow while I fuck you. Where the hell is your lube? Oh, god, I hope for your sake you have some, because I am impatient and that _will not_ stop me.”

Naked but for his socks, Rhys half-rolled to shift his way over to the bedside table. Jack stepped forward to save him the trouble. There was no way to stop him in time. At least, not without inciting some wrath. It was difficult to feel sexy, but at the same time he was aroused in a way that felt completely out of his control. It was an unusual feeling.

He liked it.

Then, he remembered what was in that drawer. A shaky dread burned briefly in the pit of Rhys’ stomach, the same place where all that humiliation had managed to collect, and he braced himself.

“There we go. That makes things easier.” Jack reached into the drawer and grabbed what he was looking for. For a moment, Rhys thought he might escape additional indignity, but then Jack stopped. He opened the drawer further.

He looked over at Rhys, one already-hawkish eyebrow lifted at a comically inquisitive angle. With nothing to say for himself, Rhys averted his eyes. Obviously knowing shame when he saw it, and quietly reveling in it, Jack looked back at the drawer. “That… well… that is certainly an unauthorized Handsome Jack dildo. That’s… kind of flattering?” His tone squeaked up to a whine, unused to sounding hesitant. “Definitely creepy. But I’ve seen weirder.”

“That’s… um…” There was nothing Rhys could say. He had it, he’d bought it, he kept it next to his bed with his lube. No one had ever needed to know, but now the last person in the world who should have known had found out (aside from, maybe, his mom. Although his mom couldn’t fire him for it).

“It’s not bad.” Handsome Jack said appraisingly, reaching in and pulling the thing out like it was an everyday occurrence to see a high-quality silicone likeness of one’s own phallus marketed as a product.

Yeah, actually, Rhys could entirely imagine Jack getting off on that.

He lowered it to his crotch, comparing. “Someone may have had input on this who knew the real thing. Considering all the people who’ve seen my dick, well… I’m actually not surprised. I mean, the _nuance,_ you can’t… manufacture… wait, is this a suction cup, when you pull this thing? Oh, man, it is. This is ingenious. Maybe we should make sex toys. Quite a racket. I wonder how many of these sold. Note to self: look into that, then sue them. Oh yeah, anyway. You.” He pointed the dildo at Rhys. “You’ve used this?”

Rhys opened his mouth, for once ready with a snappy comeback, but Jack interrupted him just as quickly. “Of course you have. Not gonna lie, that’s pretty hot. Now that I’m looking at you I’m getting… all riled up again…” He wagged the dildo a couple of times in the air before dropping it on the carpet and moving to the edge of the bed again. “Spread your legs, go on.”

Silent this time, only concerned with looking as inviting as possible, Rhys did as he was told. He bent his legs slightly, spreading them wide like a centerfold.

“Wow, that’s a… that’s a straight-up pair of _stems_ you’ve got on you, huh? Nice.” Pride would, hopefully, take over the humiliation-and-awkwardness cocktail in his stomach soon. If Jack kept saying things like that, and sweeping eyes over his body with that hungry, sort of glossy expression, it wouldn’t take long. “Anyway, lube up for me, we wasted too much time after your little keepsake caught me off guard.”

He tossed the bottle, and Rhys caught it against his chest with a modest flail. Though he wasn’t quite sure how to do it quickly and still make it look pretty, he reminded himself that Handsome Jack was literally in his room, willing and waiting to fuck him, and even if Handsome Jack wasn’t the subject of his wettest dreams he was still _Handsome Jack_ and Rhys was better off being expeditious.

The conspicuous combination of fear and lust was a great motivator. Despite how many times he’d imagined being watched by this very man in this very position, however, Rhys still looked away as he arched his back and reached slick fingers between his parted thighs.

“Very nice.” Jack was unable to resist the urge for color commentary, waiting on the sidelines as Rhys slid one finger slowly in and out of his body and held one leg up with his mechanical hand. “Look at you, those smooth thighs and your... “ His voice trailed off on a curious little moan. “I’m sorry, I’m really distracted by the way you just screwed two fingers into your ass without hesitation. That, uh… that dildo’s been working overtime, hasn’t it? You know what you’re doing with yourself.”

He wasn’t sure whether Jack wanted him to talk very much, but Rhys couldn’t resist the urge to plant at least a tiny mental image in his brain. “A couple times a week, I guess.”

The quickest grunt of approval let him know that yeah, a little talking was just fine. “Your little pink fuckhole’s already used to being wet and wide open for ol’ Jack, huh?”

In lieu of words, Rhys finally tilted his head toward Jack and looked right at him. He didn’t know what to say so he just let his tongue trail slowly over his top lip, holding eye contact.

“Well, that was a ‘yes’. You’re all about the suction cup, aren't you, Rhysie? I'll bet you are. You look like the sort who could bounce on a cock. Man, I’m gonna think of that every time I see you around now. That is, I figure I’ll have some other things to remember after this, but. Something about you getting down on a dildo is… just demeaning enough that I can’t help loving it.” He laughed softly, calmly, and Rhys closed his eyes to steal a few moments of faux-solitude as he stroked inside of himself insistently, widening the space between his fingers with every thrust. Jack wasn't wrong, after all; when he was feeling industrious, he enjoyed nothing more than sticking his favorite dildo to the floor in front of his mirror to watch himself go for a nice, hard ride.

Time passed, but not too much, and Rhys was ready. He was prepared to say so, as he pulled three slippery-hot fingers from his tight, but suddenly very empty hole. Before the words left his mouth, though, he felt a big, warm hand sliding around one of his ankles, skimming the top of his sock. The hand tightened.

Jack pulled him forward, and Rhys gasped as the sheets whispered gently beneath him all the way to the edge of the bed. Jack’s hands lifted him with a touch that seemed nearly gentle, leaving his legs to dangle as prettily as they could manage. At the very least, Rhys pointed his toes. “Ohhh, kiddo. This was a good choice. You were a good choice. Ohoho, there’s a lot I want to do to you, but I’ll admit to being poor at time management. Let’s just get to the main event. Let’s just pretend this went down the way I wanted it to go down. Let’s pretend like you invited a stranger to your room so I could rail your cute, skinny, impressively-waxed ass, and I’ll forget you were a little cocktease about it. All right?”

Like it was effortless, Jack held him up with one hand and pressed his cock to the quivering heat of Rhys’ hole.

“Yes, sir,” Rhys answered, because even in his own apartment, off the clock, bouncing sweaty and slutty on a thick pillar of silicone, his mind would always default to ‘sir,’ because it _wanted_ to, and the sweatiest and sluttiest parts of him wanted Handsome Jack to know that.

Jack pushed in, and Rhys scratched his fingernails on the sheets, composure faltering completely, self-consciousness disappearing, focused on the _heat_ of it. The head of Jack’s cock pressed him open densely and he moaned into the feeling, crooking his legs further aloft. Not knowing what to expect, bracing himself only for something close to what he'd been prepared for, Rhys opened his mouth on a silent cry. 

“You gotta do that? You open your pretty mouth wide like that, and it just makes me wish I had another dick to shove in it. And I'm too selfish to let a toy do that job.”

It was the strangest moment to finally find his voice, but Rhys managed, “I'd take it.”

“Of course you would. Tell me, Rhys, does anyone else know what a dirty slut you are?”

Okay, there was one guy in R&D, but they were both ashamed enough of the encounter that the truth would never see the light of day. Mistakes had been made. Rhys shook his head.

“That's so hot, damn fuck.” Jack tried to make the most of the moment, and thrust his hips forward. Bear down though he did, the stubbornness of his own body made Rhys curse, sweating on his neck and forehead as Jack sank only another inch, maybe.

“Okay, I'm going to slick this thing up more and you're going to calm the fuck down a little. I know this has to be a dream scenario for you and all, but I'm surprisingly low on amyls _and_ patience and--”

“Need any tips?”

A pointed, silent _how dare you?_ flashed across Jack’s face, and the eyebrow returned. “Pretty cocky for a guy who doesn't have much cock to spare.”

“So why do you keep looking at it?” It seemed like that statement only made Jack concentrate harder at the space between Rhys’ legs as he slid a palmful of lube over his cock and grunted appreciatively.

“I'm not looking at your little dick, babe, I'm looking at your little cunt. And man… it sure looks more open and cock-ready than it feels like.”

“Maybe you’re too big for me.” He tried to put the right inflection of challenge into the words, to make it more complimentary than discouraging. It seemed to work. “Just use some rhythm. Like this,” Rhys started to move his hips in gentle rolling movements. Whatever had transpired in recent minutes to make him feel comfortable enough to talk technique with Handsome Jack, he was glad for it. Despite a thoroughly immodest crush and an overwhelming desire to do whatever the man wanted, Rhys wasn’t going to let this end with Jack blaming _him_ for not being receptive to the battering-ram method when his ass was literally on the line.

“That’s… hypnotic.” Jack watched him writhe, and gestured at him to back up. A wave of confidence hit Rhys, a moment of clarity in the middle of what was already an unbelievable evening, and he realized that Jack was about to be in his bed. He slid back into place and settled luxuriously into his small nest of pillows, tossed his metal arm over his head, and continued to roll his hips. “Seems a little romantic compared to what I was going for, but--”

“Well I’m not a loose, sloppy fuck, sorry to disappoint.”

Jack’s eyes flashed on him and he laughed deeply, crawling onto the bed over Rhys. Eager for friction, eager for any contact, Rhys canted desperately beneath him, but Jack only hovered. He watched Rhys’ face, unexpectedly observant, scanning for the minutiae in his expressions, the way one pupil dilated while the other made lovely digital patterns in electric blue. He leaned closer, one hand clasped around a leg, suggesting, teasing, driving Rhys to a new height of stimulation as he got near enough to intimate a kiss.

Metal fingers, deft and uncanny, reached in to touch his hair, to trail almost sweetly down his face. Jack allowed it.

“Put your legs on my shoulders,” he said, pulling away, leaving Rhys a hair’s-breadth from his lips and visibly _yearning._ “Let’s try this again, cupcake.”  

This was what he wanted. It was the reality of his fantasy, and Rhys had no time to dwell in it. He didn’t dare. The memories would be there, perhaps indistinct and abstruse, but there would be many nights to mull them over and form new fantasies on their foundation. His legs moved gracefully, graciously, to rest against the solid heat of Jack’s body.

Stroking one hand over Rhys’ calf, Jack looked over and smirked in a surprisingly genuine way. “These are cute. Wear these next time.”

He could already feel Jack pressing against his ass again, and those words didn’t help ground his live wire of sexual need. Rhys whined and barely formed the word: “What?”

“The socks. The socks are cute.”

“Yeah, but--” he had to interrupt himself, had to toss his head back and moan as the head of Jack’s cock pushed back in. “Next time?”

“Oh, _really_ , Rhysie, you think I’m going to go trolling for ass again now that I’ve got this? No chance. You’re a sure thing, right?” He rolled his hips. “I mean… right?” The vaguest hint of a threat was in the question.  

He had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but if it implied more sex with Handsome Jack, Rhys was willing to roll with it for now and renegotiate later. His presence of mind was not strong enough to suss out details, and Jack felt so _good_ inside him… trying to get deeper inside him… “Yeah… ohhhh, yeah…”

“Come on, kiddo, give me some of that rhythm you were talking about, don’t go all lazy on me now.”

“Oh, oh sorry!” He’d just _forgotten_ , what with the conversation and the socks and that _dick_ \--

Jack was still kneeling above him, in front of him, holding on to Rhys’ legs and taking full advantage of the chance to survey him as they fucked. “That’s more like it. Yeah, this is… I can see where this is… yeah this is frickin’ awesome.” It took a few tries, but Rhys managed to match Jack’s pace, to meet him at the right moment, to roll his hips at the perfect angle and feel him sliding deeper, pushing him wider, fucking him with hard, even thrusts. There was a certain sweetness to their body harmony, filthy as it was and filthier as it became with each passing minute.

When Jack leaned forward - more of a fall than a simple lean, really - it was a shock to Rhys. Luckily, he was limber enough to accommodate the way his legs bent between them as Jack went on hands and knees, using the traction to thrust harder, quicker. Still, Rhys had to cry out. And do it again. And, for good measure, yet again. With every deep breath he sucked in just to keep himself present, Jack filled him deeper. All the way, Rhys realized as he felt balls slap his ass. He moaned.

“Good?” Jack asked, voice husky and amused. It was clear that he was not asking in order to gauge Rhys’ comfort.

Luckily, Rhys was perfectly comfortable, even with the way his body protested being bent like a pretzel, even with the way he throbbed with a dull ache around the thickness filling him. Even with the way he moaned, cried, nearly screamed. “Yes, good. So good.” His flesh hand reached out and grabbed tightly to Jack’s arm, feeling it flex as the pace quickened.

His head swam. He lost every inhibition under the weight of Jack’s body and the burn of his muscles and the irresistible urge to moan out loud, louder and louder, with every brush of Jack’s cock against his prostate. Everything came down to the frantic, wet tempo of their skin slapping and Jack grunting and Rhys gurgling out one last, desperate yell as his body refused to hold back anymore.

He came hard and he came trembling, fucked to an orgasm that left him twitching in a few wild spurts between them, fluttering and tightening around Jack’s cock, whimpering, _weak_. And he knew Jack was looking at him, watching his face all flushed and clenched and open-mouthed, just fucking him harder, faster, deeper, right through it.

They didn’t speak. Jack pitched forward in a rough, crucial thrust, the slightest low note vibrating through his throat as Rhys felt the warmth of raw orgasm blooming deep in his gut. He gasped as the sensation rolled through him, a hot fullness stirred up just enough by the shallow, paltry thrusts Jack offered him in the aftermath.

Unwinding his legs as Jack sat up, he knew he would be sore the next morning. The occasional muttered “ow” throughout the day would be met with quizzical expressions from coworkers, who knew he wasn’t the type to work out, but also would have never suspected him of a random, athletic hook up. Especially not with… well…

Jack pulled out, and Rhys whimpered, trying to adjust to the odd feeling that he wanted to sleep for five years and still pay attention to every single detail at the same time. He sat up enough to watch Jack get dressed. There were a dozen things he wanted to say, but even if his mouth felt non-operational, he wouldn’t have been able to settle on one thing. It didn’t surprise him that he already missed the heat of their closeness. Not that he’d ever expected Jack to be the cuddling type. Still, it was pretty cold in his room, and he didn’t want to drag himself to the shower just yet, leaking Jack’s come all the way. The worst, sweatiest, sluttiest part of him wanted to hold on to that sickly full feeling a little longer. If he was feeling up to it after the haze of post-orgasm passed, his fingers might have some more work to do.

“Don’t delete your profile. Don’t even think about it,” Jack said, lingering near the edge of the bed and rolling his neck on his shoulders, as if the aches and pains were going to catch up to him in other ways he already anticipated. The little smile on his face hinted that he didn’t mind at all. “And don’t go fucking other people, cupcake. If I contact you again, I want you to be available.” One finger slid over the fabric on Rhys’ foot gingerly, a protracted moment of contemplation that left Rhys muttering the only feasible response:

“Oh… okay.”

Jack bent down, and a moment later straightened back up holding the facsimile dildo in one hand. He tossed it at the bed and smirked. “In the meantime, here’s your friend. Stay in practice. And uh... oh yeah, by the way... I'll let you keep your left nut."

To punctuate that, he aimed two finger pistols at Rhys and clicked his tongue before turning to leave.

 


End file.
